


The Hardest Part Of Living

by pickledpixies



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues, Revenge Era, Self-Harm, Tour Bus, only without bob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:05:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickledpixies/pseuds/pickledpixies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge era mcr are on tour in 2005, Mikey's anxiety is getting worse and everything is getting harder for him to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I had in my head so I thought I'd write down. I don't think it's going to end up being that long but you never know. Also yeah I know its revenge era but I feel weird writing things with any ex mcr drummers in so Bob's just not there sorry! Hope you like it!

Mikey sat at his seat at the table in the diner, chewing the inside of his lip and occasionally taking a sip from his glass of ice water in the table, watching everyone else eat. He wasn't hungry, or rather he was, he was fucking starving, but right now his stomach couldn't handle anything inside it other than the anxiety swirling itself into tangles. He looked down at the burger in front of him, knowing he should probably eat something, and picked up one of the fries off his plate, taking a bite and chewing it slowly, swallowing the tiny piece of food and immediately feeling sick, before putting the rest of it back on his untouched plate and returning to chewing at the inside of his lip instead of the food and sipping at his water.

He wasn't even really sure what was wrong. by all accounts, he should he feeling just fine, he thought. Tour was going well, they were about halfway through and they'd just played yet another sold out show, the venues every night packed full of kids screaming their songs back to them. He was hanging out with some of his best friends everyday, traveling the country playing music, living out the life he had dreamed of having since he was seven years old. By all accounts, Mikey was living the best version of his life he could have possibly ever imagined. But something was definitely wrong, nagging away at him, gnawing away at his insides every second of the day. It had gotten worse lately, his thoughts constantly darker, more self-deprecating than they had ever been before. Anxiety constantly swirled in the pit of his stomach, and his mind constantly spiralled into places he wished it wouldn't. Mikey was no stranger to the dark places his mind often wondered, but never like this, never so constant when there was nothing outward dragging him down. 

Absent-mindedly deconstructing his uneaten burger, Mikey zoned in and out of the conversation Gerard, Frank and Ray were having around him. Truth be told even if he wanted to he couldn't really join in the conversation, his constant zoning in and out making it hard to keep up with what was going on. He was vaguely aware of talk of setlist changes for the next show, quickly shifting into plans for their day off tomorrow, leaving Mikey to his own head. He sighed, taking another sip of his water, painfully over-aware of every movement he was making. He felt a hand squeeze gently at he knee under the table, dragging him back out of his thoughts with a jolt. He looked up at the table, eyes wide with confusion, and found Gerard eyes meet his from diagonally across the table.

"Are you okay?" Mikey saw Gerard's lips mouth to him, staying completely silent so as not to draw attention from Ray and Frank, still engrossed in conversation with each other.

Mikey just blinked for a second, caught somewhat off guard, before shrugging slightly and sighing a barely audible sigh. He didn't want to talk. He didn't know what to say, there was nothing to say really. Everything was shit even though everything should have been great and he had no idea why. Great talk. He kicked himself internally for allowing his shitty mood to be written all over his face, knowing how perceptive Gerard was to other people's emotions, especially his. Not that Gerard needed to be particularly perceptive to work out that Mikey hadn't been feeling great lately, after all it was pretty damn obvious when someone usually so full of energy almost completely withdrew into themselves like Mikey had done.

Gerard nodded his head in the direction of the door and slipped on his leather jacket, taking a pack of cigarettes and his lighter out of the pocket. Mikey nodded slowly, sighing again, knowing Gerard would want to talk and knowing he wouldn't be able to tell him anything, and stood up from the table at the same time as Gerard, keeping his eyes fixed down on his uneaten plate of food as Gerard told the others that they were going outside for a minute. Mikey picked up his hoodie from the back of his chair and put it on, pulling the sleeves down past his hands, as he followed Gerard out of the diner to the porch outside. Leaning back against the outside brick wall of the diner, Gerard took out two cigarettes and lit them both at the same time, handing one to Mikey before taking a long drag of his own. 

Mikey took the cigarette and also leaned back against the wall, pulling his hoodie a little tighter round himself as the chill of the November night hit him, sending shivers through his body. He leaned his head back a little and closed his eyes, willing his body to teleport him anywhere, or transform him into anyone who didn't feel quite so pathetic as he did in that moment. He bit down on the inside of his lip, the taste of blood trickling into his mouth bringing him back to reality. He inhaled his cigarette, tobacco mixing with the metallic saltiness of the specks of blood in his mouth, the smoke stinging slightly against where he'd bitten through his lip.

"So, are you gonna tell me what's going on or..." Gerard asked softly after a minute or so of silence, trailing off slightly at the end.

Again all Mikey could think to do was shrug, inhaling his cigarette deeply and rubbing his eyes with his other hand. He knew he wouldn't be able to bullshit Gerard into thinking everything was alright, and he didn't want to, not really. He hated lying to his brother, he just had no idea what to say because, from the outside at least, there really was nothing going on to tell. 

"Mikes come on, you've got enough negativity radiating off you to burn a fucking hole in the ground," Gerard sighed, ashing his cigarette and taking another drag, turning his head to face his brother, trying to meet his eyes.

Mikey chewed at the inside of his lip again, now sore with a very small but constant trickle of blood leaking into his mouth. He kept his eyes on his shoes, staring at his beat-up black and white Vans like they were the most interesting things in the world, "It's nothing... just, the usual, y'know?" He said eventually, his voice barely above a whisper, not once looking up.

Gerard nodded, pursing his lips in thought. He knew "the usual" was never great as it was, but Gerard knew his brother, and he hadn't seen him this withdrawn in a long time. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't anything serious, Mikey would tell him if it was, he hoped it least. It was just stress, he told himself, stress and pressure from tour combined with the chemical imbalances that he and Mikey both shared, bringing Mikey down. He put his arm around his brother and pulled him into a hug, Mikey not really reciprocating but not rejecting it either, instead staying still and relaxed in Gerard's arms. 

"Why don't you go back to the hotel, get some rest, yeah?" Gerard suggested, thinking that the hotel night and day off of their tour had probably come at the exact right time for Mikey.

Mikey sighed reluctantly but nodded in reply, "Yeah, I guess. Just... don't tell the others okay? Just, like, say I was tired or something. I don't know I just don't want everyone getting super worried y'know? I don't want you getting worried.. Like, I'm fine."

"I know," Gerard smiled encouragingly, more for Mikey's sake than his own, "You got your room key? I'll come check on you when we get back, just get some rest okay? You'll be okay."

Mikey nodded, unconvinced, but not wanting to give Gerard any reason to worry. Maybe Gerard was right, maybe a good nights sleep in a room on his own rather than a bus full of people was what he needed to feel better. Even as he thought it though, Mikey knew it couldn't be that simple. It never was, whenever he sunk into the dark places of his mind it took far more than a good nights sleep to drag him out. But he'd play along, for now, for Gerard's sake, he's try to pretend everything was okay and he didn't feel like he was suffocating inside his own mind. Everything would be okay. He'd be okay.


	2. Two

After a few hours alone in a hotel room, it became clear to Mikey quite how wrong his brother had been. After he'd found his room, Mikey lay awake on the bed, flicking through the channels on the TV with the sound off just to give himself something to do. After an hour, Gerard had knocked on his door to tell him they were back and, and Mikey had told him he was going to sleep. He hadn't meant to lie, he had every intention of going to sleep, but the spinning thoughts in his head and anxiety swirling with hunger in his stomach made it hard. He'd even tried having a bath, ("Because that's what people do to relax, isn't it?" He'd thought), but after a few minutes cramped cross-legged into the small bathtub he'd just felt too hot trapped in the steam and water and given up, wrapping a towel round his waist and laying back down on the bed to stare at the ceiling. 

His stomach growled at him, Mikey willing it to stop and realising it had been days since he's been able to eat properly without his anxiety interfering. He didn't have any sort of anxiety around eating, per se, but eating amplified the feelings already in his stomach, making it too much for him to stand. He sighed, pushing himself off the bed, resigning himself to probably having to eat something if he was going to get his hunger to go away enough to sleep.  There was no mini bar or any sort of food in the room, but there was a coffee machine, so a cup of coffee would have to do. Not that Mikey minded particularly, he was sort of relieved. Coffee was fine, he could drink coffee and feel a little better, probably. It probably wouldn't help with sleep, but it was 5am and Mikey had all but given up with that. They had the day off anyway, he reminded himself, he could sleep all day if he needed to.

Maybe it was because it was 5am and he'd been awake for coming up for 22 hours, or maybe it was because he was just having one of those days, but Mikey just couldn't get the damn coffee maker to work. It wouldn't slot into place, it wouldn't turn on, it wouldn't do anything, and Mikey felt frustration and anger build inside him until, almost without realising, he found himself throwing the coffee machine into the wall, followed soon-after by his fist, until he was hitting the wall repeatedly. Tears streamed down his face as plastic shards littered the room and blood crept out of the ripped skin on his knuckles and all he could think about was how this was over a goddamn coffee maker, he'd been holding himself together but a fucking coffee machine not working was what tipped him over the edge.

"Fuck!" He yelled, ramming his hand into the wall again and instantly regretting it, remembering it was 5am and the walls of the hotel were probably paper thin. The last thing he wanted to do was wake up Gerard and have him knocking on his door and seeing his pathetic coffee machine related breakdown and realising that everything wasn't fine and making Mikey talk to him.

Almost as if on cue, Mikey heard a knock at his bedroom door, cursing under his breath and clenching his fists to make the tension drain from his body, the ripped skin on his knuckles turning white with pressure, blood dripping slightly down his fingers. Maybe he could pretend he was asleep, pretend the noise that had woken whoever was at his door up had come from somewhere else. He considered it for a moment, finally having calmed down enough to take in the damage to the room. There stains on his own blood on the wall, and the coffee machine had hit into a lamp which had also shattered. Glass and plastic covered a whole corner of his room and Mikey wondered if there was some way he could hide the damage no one would notice. 

"Mikey?" A voice came through the door, knocking again, louder this time, "Mikey what the fuck is going on?"

Mikey froze for a second, taking him a little while to realise that the voice coming through the door wasn't Gerard's, it was Frank. Mikey swore again under his breath as he made his was towards the door. At least Frank would probably be easier to convince that he was okay than Gerard would be.

"Uh.. nothing, everything's fine," Mikey called back, willing his voice not to give away that he'd been crying.

"So I woke up to you beating up the other side of my bedroom wall because everything's fine? Come on, Mikey, open the door."

Mikey sighed, picking up his discarded jeans and t-shirt from the floor and pulling them on before breathing deeply and opening the door the tiniest crack, looking out to see Frank, bleary eyed in blue plaid pyjama pants with the skeleton ribcage t-shirt he'd been wearing the previous day.

"Sorry," Mikey mumbled, fixing his eyes just past Frank so he wouldn't have to actually look at him, "Everything's fine,"

Frank raised an eyebrow quizzically, "Bullshit," He muttered, his voice not aggressive in the slightest though, just full of concern, his eyes flicking down to Mikey's bleeding hand, putting his hand on Mikey's shoulder and pushing the door to the room open more so he could see what had happened. 

Mikey flinched a little, trying to push Frank out of the room, but he was too tired to put up much protest. He stood to the side, rubbing his eyes as Frank surveyed the damage, his mouth dropping open when he saw.

"Fuck, Mikey," Frank muttered, looking at the broken plastic and glass.

"The, uh, the coffee machine wouldn't work," Mikey sighed by way of an explanation.

"So you put your fist through it?"

"Something like that."

"It's 5am why were you even making coffee in the first place?" Frank asked, his voice starting to sound more awake now.

"Couldn't sleep," Mikey sighed.

"Ah yes and coffee is bound to help with that," Frank quipped, before turning to look at Mikey, regretting the harshness in his voice immediately, "Come on," He added softly, putting his hand on Mikey's shoulder, "The coffee machine in my room is working, lets go talk, okay?"

Mikey didn't really respond, but he let Frank guide him towards the door, seeing him pick up the room key from the counter on the side. Frank kept his hand on Mikey's shoulder as they walked out the open door and through to Frank's room next door, the door still ajar. The lights in the room were off except for the lamp next to the bed, the sheets and pillows clearly slept in. Mikey felt a pang of guilt for waking Frank up, and an even stronger pang of guilt for not resisting Frank's attempts to look after him when really, Mikey thought, Frank should have just gone back to sleep and not been so goddamn caring. It was times like these that he hated how much his bandmates  _got it._ Sometimes he wished he could have been in a band with people who weren't so attuned to depression or anxiety or whatever other mental health issues any of them had going on, so that in times like these, when everything felt too much for Mikey to handle, they'd just leave him alone and wouldn't make him talk about it. He knew it was a counter productive way to think, he knew in the long run having bandmates who understood how bad things could get could only possibly be a good thing, but there were times it just didn't feel like that.

Mikey found himself being sat down on Frank's bed, his back resting against the pillows propped up on the headboard and the covers slightly over his legs, as Frank made two cups of coffee before coming over and pressing one into Mikey's hands, sitting down cross-legged at the edge of the bed facing Mikey. Mikey took the coffee gratefully and sipped it, trying to make the hot liquid distract him from the emptiness inside his stomach.

"You okay?" Frank asked softly, sipping on his own coffee.

Mikey shrugged, barely looking up, and set his mug down on the nightstand, picking at the peeling skin on his knuckles absent-mindedly. His bruised and bleeding hand was starting to sting, but he didn't mind, it was nice in a way to have a physical manifestation of hurt to focus on. He felt Frank's hand reach out and touch his, stopping him from doing any further damage. Frank got up and made his way to the bathroom, taking a small washcloth and soaking it with warm water, rubbing his eyes and running on autopilot. He wasn't even that tired anymore, he couldn't be, Mikey needed someone to be there for him, and Frank had to be that person for now. Not that he minded, he never minded helping out any of his friends when they were going through a hard time, but it broke his heart a bit to see Mikey so clearly disturbed. He thought briefly about going to wake up Gerard but decided against it. All that would happen if Gerard saw his brother like this would be that Gerard would spiral out of control with worry and guilt, and Frank didn't need two bandmates to hold together.

Returning to the bed, Frank took Mikey's hand in his and began dabbing the washcloth to the broken skin, cleaning off the flakes of dried blood now sticking to it. He sighed, looking over to Mikey rubbing his eyes with his other hand, before setting the cloth down on the bedside table and once again sitting down to face Mikey.

"It's okay, you don't have to talk if you don't want to... Just, we all love you, you know that right? We're all here for you if you need us," Frank said softly, shuffling round to sit next to Mikey and put an arm round his shoulders. Mikey rested his head against Frank's shoulder, holding back tears. "Maybe you should call your shrink in the morning," He mused.

"No!" Mikey replied suddenly, with more force than Frank had expected, "No... it's just... I can get through a fucking month long tour without phoning my shrink the second I start feeling shitty, I can do this, I'll be fine. I'm just... I'm just tired, I think."

"Sure, just tired," Frank replied, not believing it for a second to be the cause of Mikey's problems, but knowing for the time being it was true. He pulled back the covers and gestured for Mikey to lay down, placing the covers back over him as soon as he did and clicking the bedside lamp off, "Get some rest, see how you feel when you wake up, okay?"

Mikey nodded and murmured vaguely in response, laying his head down against the pillow that Frank had been asleep on not too long ago. It was sort of comforting to have the pillow already dented and sheets already slept in, sort of a bit more like being at home than in a starchy, impersonal hotel room. Frank lay down beside him, rubbing his hand gently on Mikey's shoulder. Part of Mikey hated all this, he didn't want sympathy, or empathy, or his friends looking at him like he needed to be helped. But he was tired, and Frank's touch was reassuring rather than patronising, and Mikey found himself finally drifting off to sleep.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note to say trigger warning for this chapter for descriptions of self-harm. It's not particularly graphic but if you're likely to be triggered by that kind of thing please stay safe and don't read x

It had been a couple of days since the night in the hotel, and they were back on the bus, traveling to a different city every night. Mikey had wasted most of his day off sleeping in Frank's hotel room, though it hadn't helped improve his mood at all, much as he'd expected. He'd begged Frank not to tell Gerard about the incident where he'd introduced his fist, the wall, and the coffee maker, and Frank had reluctantly agreed under the condition that the next time Mikey felt everything in his head bubbling over that he would talk to one of them instead of taking matters into his own hands. Mikey lay awake in his bunk. It was 4am, and while they all found it hard to sleep after shows, Mikey was pretty sure he was the only one still awake. Playing shows had been getting harder, looking out and seeing so many people staring back at him, and Mikey had all but run away from the planned meet and greet after the show, not feeling able to face talking to anyone. He'd pretended to be asleep when the rest of the band got back to the bus, but he knew he wasn't really tricking anyone.

He wasn't sure how he was going to carry on doing this. Seeing people, talking to people, playing in front of people, it was all so hard now, harder than it had ever been before. He could barely say a word to anyone other than his bandmates, and he hardly said much to any of them anymore as it was. Everything spinning round in his head telling him he wasn't good enough, that he shouldn't be there, that he should just give up and go home and stop trying to be someone that he wasn't. He wished that he could get drunk or high or fucking anything that would make his head shut up but he couldn't, not around Gerard. Sure, he could have a beer, or he could probably get a bit of pot off someone to smoke, but that wasn't enough, he needed to get flat out wasted to make everything in his head stop. He clenched his fists, willing himself to stop thinking about it, his knuckles still sore from hitting the wall the other day. 

He pushed himself out of his bunk and crept quietly into the bathroom, the lightbulb flickering on all too bright for so late at night. He pulled the door shut quickly so as not to have the light wake anyone else, and stood over the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He wasn't really sure what he was doing, his legs had sort of guided him to the bathroom against his better judgement, but any part of his mind still thinking rationally had long since been overtaken by this desperate need to silence the nagging anxieties that just would not shut up. It couldn't be too bad, he thought, thousands of kids did it, thousands of  _their kids_ , their fans, at their shows, did it, didn't they? And yet, the thought of anyone else doing it still didn't really sit right with Mikey. He could see why people got upset over it, he'd get upset if he knew any of his friends felt bad enough to do it, but for him it just seemed to make sense. The distraction of physical pain to give himself five minutes of peace, enough to go to sleep.

He reached out for his wash bag and rifled through for an unused disposable razor. Pulling one out, he pulled it out of the plastic packaging, before stuffing the empty wrapper back into the wash bag. He stared down at the razor head, three little blades neatly encased in plastic, flipping it over and cracking the plastic open to pull it apart, watching the three blades fall loose into his hand. They were tiny, no more than 5mm in width, but they were sharp, and they'd do the job.  He signed, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to work out if this was actually what he was going to do.

He slipped the blades into the pocket of his hoodie and put the snapped plastic razor back in his wash bag, and pushed the bathroom door open, making his way through to the kitchen area at the front of the bus and sitting down at the table, picking up Gerard's pack of cigarettes that was sat there and lighting one, cracking the bus window open a tiny bit and shivering as the cold air hit him. Mikey didn't smoke often, but he needed a distraction, and he didn't know what else to do. The smoke scratched against his throat and he thought maybe this sort of self destruction could be enough for now, though he doubted it would work for long. He reached across the table and pulled over a half eaten family-sized bag of chips, nibbling on them very slowly. If he ate small enough amounts slow enough, it didn't amplify his anxiety too much. He'd had some cereal before they'd gone on stage last night, and now some chips, and while he knew it wasn't enough to sustain him for long it was better than nothing, and that was the best he could hope for. Putting his hand into his pocket, Mikey ran his fingers over the blunt side of the blade, pressing down gently on the sharp side, not enough. to prick the skin but enough to leave a shallow dent for a couple of seconds. He rubbed his eyes, stubbing out the finished cigarette into the ash tray and lighting himself another one. 

"Mikeyway? What are you doing up?" 

Mikey jumped at the sound of the voice behind him, too caught up in his own thoughts to have heard the footsteps making their way into the kitchen. He shoved the blades deep into his pocket and tried to hide the fact that his hands were trembling, before spinning round to see Ray standing in the entrance of the kitchen, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, his hair resembling the birds nest it always did first thing in the morning.

"Oh, I, uh, couldn't sleep, came for a smoke," Mikey replied quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, immediately terrified he sounded like he was hiding something.

"Goddamn timezones, huh?" Ray replied, seemingly still half asleep and definitely too tired to notice Mikey not quite being himself, "I just came to get some water," He added, reaching into the fridge and pulling out a small bottle, opening it and gulping down half in one, "You should sleep soon though, I think we've gotta do press shit most of tomorrow."

"Yeah, I was gonna go back to try and sleep now," Mikey replied, stubbing out his second cigarette and shoving his hand into his pocket, relaxing a little when his fingers came in contact with the blades. 

Mikey followed Ray back to the bunks, muttering a goodnight before climbing into his own and pulling the curtain shut. He flicked on his little reading light, hoping that the thickness of the curtain would stop too much light shining out, but either way Ray was the only one awake and he'd still seemed so half asleep Mikey doubted he'd notice anything. He took the blades out of his pocket and looked at them shining under the light, picking up one from the palm of his hand and holding it up. He reached down the side of his bunk pulled out his wallet, stashing the other two blades in there for no other reason than it seemed like the most hidden place to put them. He tuned his attention back to the blade in his hand and tugged up the sleeve of his hoodie, running his thumb over his wrist. He'd always thought wrists didn't seem like the cleverest place to cut yourself if you didn't want people finding out, but it was there, and it screamed out to have the skin torn apart, and besides, he wore sweatbands so often anyways no one would even think twice about not seeing his wrists. 

Pinching the blade between his thumb and index finger, Mikey lowered it to his wrist, the pale skin almost reflective in the harshness of reading light in his bunk. He pressed it gently to his skin, some dark part of his mind taking over and leaving the rest of him powerless to stop it. He bushed the blade against his skin, hardly applying any pressure, and watched as tiny pinpricks of blood began to rise to the surface. He felt himself smiling, lowering the blade again and pressing down harder this time, still just working out how much pressure he needed to satisfy the urge without doing any serious damage. This time the skin split open instantly, gaping apart just a little bit, blood filling the wound and dripping down onto his bedsheets. That one stung, but at least now he was focused on that rather than every part of his brain telling him what a fuck up he was. He continued like that, cutting three more times in swift motions, before he was finally pulled out of his trance when he saw the reading light in Frank's bunk next to his flick on. He quickly pulled his sleeve down, grateful the black fabric wouldn't stain from the blood, but cursing himself internally for forgetting tissues or band aids or anything that would have stopped the blood from dripping everywhere. He shoved the used blade under his pillow, trying not to make too much noise. He wondered how much time had passed since he'd first gone into the bathroom to get the blades, and he suspected quite a while from the beginnings of sunlight streaming in from behind the bus curtains.

"Mikes? You awake?" Frank called over in a loud whisper, seeing Mikey's bunk light on.

Mikey panicked for a second, shuffling to lay down and then staying as still and silent as he possibly could, hoping to trick Frank into thinking he'd just fallen asleep with his bunk lamp on. His breathing was loud and shaking, and Mikey prayed Frank wouldn't come over. He couldn't face talking to anyone right now, he couldn't face looking Frank in the eye and telling him that either everything was okay, or the truth. Both options seemed as bad as each other and Mikey felt sick in the pit of his stomach. He heard Frank climb out of his bunk and Mikey continued to lay perfectly still, his eyes shut, hoping his dark bedsheets had hidden any blood stains Frank might see if he came over. Mikey heard the corner of his bunk curtain open, and heard the light click off, plunging his bunk into darkness, before the curtain closed again.

"At least you're finally sleeping," Mikey heard Frank sigh, as a pang of guilt stabbed his stomach, rolling over onto his side to face the wall and scrunching up his face, trying to stop himself from crying.


	4. Chapter 4

Mikey wasn't quiet sure how it happened, but one second he'd been sitting in the interview backstage at the venue, not exactly contributing anything to the interview, but there none the less, and the next he couldn't breathe. Well, there had been the small matter of the interviewer directing a questing explicitly at him, and all the eyes in the room turning to face him, waiting for him to say something, anything. He'd tried, he really had, he'd opened his mouth and a small series of squeaks came out before tears pricked at his eyes and the air all escaped from his lungs and he just had to leave. He was pretty sure he'd knocked over his chair he'd been in such a rush, he was pretty sure he'd heard Gerard and Frank and Ray all call after him, hearing Gerard's mumbled apologies to the interviewer and some vague lie about food poisoning by way of an explanation.  

Mikey doesn't catch his breath until he's outside the back exit of the building, his back leaning against the wall, rain pouring down over him. He thought briefly about running to the bus and hiding in his bunk, but there were kids queuing up outside the venue already even though the show wasn't for hours and he couldn't face either stopping to talk to anybody, or having them all think he was rude for running past without even acknowledging them. So he stayed where he was, sliding down the wall to sit on the soaked floor, pulling his knees up to his chest and burring his head in them. He wrapped his arms round his knees and tried to stop shivering, but the rain had soaked through his jeans, t-shirt and hoodie pretty much instantly. His breaths were still shallow and strained, but at least there was air in his lungs again, and he could barely even notice the tears streaming down his face as they mixed with the rain. 

"Fuck... fuck..." He muttered to himself, running his trembling hands through his hair. He wished it wasn't raining quite so much so he could at least have a cigarette to distract himself, but that wasn't an option right now, and his mind wondered to the two fresh blades he's stashed in his wallet the night before, the wallet which was now residing in his back pocket.

He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind. He couldn't do that, not here, not now. What if someone saw? What if Gerard came out and saw? Fuck, what if one of the kinds saw, and thought that meant it was okay, like that he was condoning it, or something like that. No, not here, not now, he told himself. He reached his right hand under the cuff of his left sleeve and felt over the stinging lines from the night before. They'd started to scab, not properly, just thin coatings of congealed blood to stop any more escaping. The skin around them was swollen and bruised, and Mikey pressed down on the bumps, trying to bring himself back down from his state of panic. He dug his fingernail into one of the cuts as hard as he could, scraping off just a little of the healing surface, but enough to feel just the smallest amount of warm blood drip down the side of his hand.

"Mikey! Mikey!" Gerard's voice shouted out as he ran outside the building, not angry as such, though Mikey read it that way. He stopped as soon as he saw Mikey crouched down against the wall sobbing into his knees and knelt down beside his brother, resting his hand on Mikey's shoulder, "Hey, what's up?"  

Mikey couldn't say anything, instead just lifting his head slightly and wiping some of the tears from his red rimmed eyes with shaking hands. He was about to say he was fine again, but he couldn't bring himself to lie when Gerard looked so worried. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the concern written all over his brother's face, clenching them shut and letting the tears seep out as he fell forwards into Gerard's arms. Gerard rubbed circles into Mikey's back, and shushed him as though he were a small child. It was how Gerard had used to calm Mikey down when they were younger, and he hoped it would still work despite the state Mikey being in seeming far worse than any Gerard had calmed him down from before. 

"Come on, let's get back inside," Gerard mumbled into Mikey's shoulder.

Mikey pulled away and looked up at Gerard wide eyed. He couldn't go back inside, not if people were still there. He didn't want any of this to be happening and he didn't want to have to talk about any of the shit he was feeling but he really, really didn't want to have to pretend he was fine right now. The walls he'd tried so hard to keep up had fallen the second he started sobbing in his brother's arms and he didn't have the strength to put them up just yet. In time, maybe, but not yet.

"Don't worry," Gerard added, reading Mikey's face, "Press have all gone, its just us. Brian said he had paperwork to do but I think he was just giving up some space, he got everyone else to leave too, so it's just the four of us."

Mikey relaxed a bit, enough to allow Gerard to help him to his feet and guide him back inside out of the rain. He didn't even notice he was still shaking until he felt Gerard's arm around his shoulders, helping steady him on his feet. His breathing was shallow and unsteady, and his heart rate was still sky high with palpitations, his eyes and cheeks hot with tears. He hated himself for being like this, for letting this happen, for being so much of a fuck up that an interviewer asking him a question could set him off on such a bad anxiety attack, but it had done, and right now there was nothing he could do about it. He wanted to resist Gerard helping, after all, he didn't deserve care and help when this was all his own goddamn fault, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Gerard to leave him alone. 

He kept his head down, letting Gerard guide him back to the backstage room they'd been in earlier, trying to focus on his breathing. He was vaguely aware of Frank and Ray in the room as Gerard sat him down on the sofa, vaguely aware of their glances of sympathy that made him sick to his stomach all over again. He felt a towel being placed round his shoulders and looked up to see Ray putting it there, patting him reassuringly on the back as he did so. He leaned back into the sofa and clutched onto the towel, trying to catch his breathe. Gerard was sat next to him, his hand resting on Mikey's knee. Frank was hovering nearby and if Mikey had looked up he would have seen the guilt written all over Frank's face, guilt for not making him tell Gerard about the night in the hotel room, guilt from feeling so helpless to do anything to make things better for Mikey.

"I'll, um, I'll go get you both some dry clothes from the bus," Ray said softly to Gerard, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. Ray had never really been one for talking things out, deep conversations made him so incredibly awkward, but he wanted to help, and practical help he could do, even if it would only help in a small way.

Gerard nodded in thanks to Ray before turning to Mikey, "Come on, Mikes, talk to us, what's going on?"

Mikey gulped and closed his eyes for a second before looking up, still avoiding his brother's eyes. Frank had sat down on the sofa the other side of him, and while he supposed he was meant to feel safe being surrounded by people who loved and cared for him, instead he just felt suffocatingly trapped.

"It's nothing, I'm fine," Mikey mumbled, staring at his hands and blinking back more tears.

"Like hell you are," Frank replied, "You've had, what, two panic attacks in the last like four days? Like even for you that's a lot."

"Wait, two?" Gerard asked, turning to Frank.

Mikey shot a glance over to Frank, his heart beating fast in his chest again, but Frank just sighed and shook his head at Mikey slightly before turning back to Gerard, "The other night, in the hotel room, I heard him freaking out through the wall and made him come stay in my room," He said, before turning back to Mikey, "MIkes, I'm sorry, but I'm not gonna help you hide shit from people who are trying to help you, we just wanna help you through this."

"Why don't you talk to me about this anymore? You used to always come to me about this stuff... You don't have to do this alone," Gerard said, trying to keep his voice calm but painfully aware of it cracking.

"Don't wanna worry you," Mikey mumbled into his hands, wiping his eyes. He couldn't even bring himself to be angry at Frank, he was just tired, so tired of all the shit going on in his head. Maybe giving into help, however weak it made him feel, would make him able to be himself again.

"I'm gonna worry even more when shit like today happens though," Gerard signed, "So if I'm gonna worry either way, let me worry about stuff so I can actually do something to help before rather than after you have to go through that, okay?"

Mikey sniffed, nodded, and rubbed his eyes, looking up just in time to see Gerard and Frank's concerned glances to each other, turning a knife of guilt in his gut. This was his fault, this was all his fault. It was his fault for being weak enough to freak out over stupid shit in the first place, it was his fault for not being able to deal, it was his fault everyone was worried about him and all he could think about doing was running off to the bathroom and adding more cuts to the ones on his wrist. He shivered as the rain-soaked fabric of his hoodie clung to to his skin, and as if on cue Ray pushed open the door to the room they were in, with dry jeans and t-shirts for both Mikey and Gerard. Gerard hopped to his feet and went to take the clothes from Ray, thanking him, before pulling off his wet t-shirt and slipping the dry one over his head, setting Mikey's clothes down on the sofa next to him.

"I'm, um, I'm gonna go change in the bathroom," Mikey muttered, picking up his clothes and standing up, making his way to the small bathroom just off the side of the dressing room.

He locked the door and turned to look at himself in the mirror, his hands on the sink staring at his reddened eyes, feeling exactly like he had done in the bathroom on the tour bus the night before. He felt his stomach retching, leaning over the sink and waiting to puke, but his stomach was so empty nothing would come up. He ran the tap, splashing some water over his face, before pulling off his wet clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He stared at his body, feeling more disconnected from it than ever before. He'd lost weight lately, and he'd been skinny to start with, now his bones jutting out through sallow skin. He pulled on the jeans and t-shirt, taking his wallet out the back pocket of his old jeans and putting it in the new ones, holding onto it just a second too long as he contemplated taking the blades out. He was about to open the door before he realised his wrist was still exposed, feeling panic rising for a second before doing the only thing he could think to do and wincing as he pulled the soaking wet hoodie over his dry clothes.

He breathed in deeply, trying to think of how he was going to face everyone, hoping they'd just leave it and let him stay in his own head a while longer but knowing that was unlikely to be the case. Almost as soon as he stepped out the bathroom he felt Gerard's hand on his shoulder, tugging the hoodie off him.

"Why are you still wearing that? Are you trying to catch pneumonia now?" He asked, and Mikey would have laughed at how much he sounded like their mother had he not been so fucking terrified.

"S'cold," Mikey mumbled, trying to push Gerard off of him.

"Yeah of course it is you're wearing a wet jumper,"

Mikey sighed, his mind screaming at him to snap, to run away, to tell everyone to leave him the fuck alone. But he didn't, he didn't have the energy, so instead he slipped the hoodie off over his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, trying to hide his wrist as he shuffled over to the sofa, Gerard following and sitting down next to him.

"Mikes, what the fuck is that?" Gerard asked suddenly, taking hold of Mikey's wrist.

Panic rose is Mikey's chest and he tried to wrestle his arm back from his brother, his eyes darting wild around the room, seeing Frank and Ray's faces staring backed at him; shocked, dismayed, disappointed, he couldn't even fucking tell anymore. Finally getting his wrist free of his brother's grasp, he held it close to his chest, tears falling from his eyes again. This wasn't meant to happen, they weren't meant to find out, not so soon. He'd just figured out a way to deal with shit and now they were going to take it away from him, or overreact, or make it a bigger deal than it actually was. 

"Mikey fucking talk to me," Gerard said, sounding like he was on the verge of tears as well.

"I... I can't... There's nothing to say.. I just, everything felt so shit all the time, I... I'm sorry..." Mikey said between sobs.

"Christ, Mikey...I can't help you if you don't fucking talk to me," Gerard said, rubbing tears from his eyes and standing up, "I... I'm going for a smoke, I've gotta clear my head, okay?" He added, before turning to Frank and Ray, "Stay with him, yeah?"

"Of course," Frank replied. 

Mikey pulled his feet up onto the sofa and buried his head in his knees, hugging his legs, trying to make himself as small as possible so maybe all of this would just stop happening. He'd fucked up, really fucked up, fucked up to the point he'd pushed Gerard past the point of being able to help, and that was how he knew it was really bad. He'd never once seen Gerard leave rather than help someone, but he must have been so angry at Mikey that he couldn't even stand to be around him. He hadn't noticed he was sobbing again until felt Frank's hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay, you can get past this... we can get past this," Frank soothed.

"No it's not going to be okay! It can't be okay! I fucked up so much Gee doesn't want anything to do with me anymore, he fucking left and I don't want his help but I didn't want him to just leave..."

"Jesus, Mikey, he fucking loves you okay? We all do, you know that, you do, under all this bullshit you're head is telling you, you know that we love you. He just can't stand seeing his little brother like this, he needs a little time to process, and yeah maybe he could have handled it better but fuck, Mikey, please don't think he doesn't care about you." Frank replied, sounding harsher than he meant to. 

"I didn't want you all to find out like this," Mikey sobbed, fidgeting nervously, trying desperately to cover his wrist so he wouldn't feel quite so exposed, like he was naked and everyone around him were dressed in formalwear. 

Frank squeezed his hand gently on Mikey's shoulder, before taking off his skeleton gloves and setting them down on Mikey's knees, "Here... if you want them, you need them more than I do," He said, softer this time, "Not that you have to or anything, like you don't have to hide anything from us, but if you wanted to cover it those'll come like halfway down your wrists."

Mikey rubbed his eyes and took the gloves gratefully, pulling them on both hands and tugging the left one down as far as it would go. Frank was right, it covered them completely, and, relaxing a little, Mikey hoped if no one saw them again he could pretend no one knew.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so long, I couldn't find a good place to split it! If you're reading please let me know what you think! x


	5. Five

Ray had managed to convince Gerard that Mikey also needed time to process what was going on, and Gerard had agreed that he wouldn't press it anymore and would give Mikey some space for the day as long as he promised to at least try and talk to them that evening after the show. All Gerard wanted was to understand what was going on, to know how Mikey needed him to help, but all Mikey wanted was for everyone to pretend that nothing was happening.The day had dragged on painfully slowly for Mikey. No one left his side, even when he went out to smoke, Frank or Gerard would go with him even if they'd just been for a cigarette, or Ray would say he wanted to get some air and come out with him. If he spent more than a couple of minutes in the bathroom someone would knock on the door, telling him to hurry up because they needed to pee, but Mikey knew they were just making sure he wasn't alone for long enough to do any damage. He'd kept Frank's gloves on all day, constantly tugging the left one down to make sure his cuts were hidden, taking a strange sort of comfort in the gesture of Frank giving them to him.

But while his bandmates didn't leave his side, not once did any of them try to talk about anything heavy, and Mikey could at least be grateful for that. He'd spent the entire show that night dreading being back on the bus after and Gerard making him spill his guts to them, prying at all the bits of his mind he'd tried so hard to hide from them. He'd messed up too many times to count during the set, and he could have sworn he felt the others glaring at him. All it did was amplify everything in his head telling him he wasn't good enough and he needed to get out, and the second their set finished he'd swung his bass off and legged it for the bus, leaping into the privacy of his bunk before breaking down in tears. 

It didn't take long for the others to catch up, of course it didn't, they'd all be like glue stuck to his side all day. Gerard way the first, pulling open the curtain to Mikey's bunk and climbing inside, wrapping his arms round Mikey's sobbing body. Mikey tried to push him off, tried to yell at them all to leave him alone, but he couldn't bring himself to, and after feebly pushing Gerard off a couple of times to no avail he broke down into his brother's arms, clinging at the fabric of Gerard's t-shirt as he cried into it. Gerard just held him, glancing helplessly over to Ray and Frank, sat in Frank's bunk opposite with the curtain open. After what seemed to all of them like hours, but in reality was only a couple of minutes, Mikey's tears slowed down, unwrapping himself from Gerard and sitting back against the wall and hugging his knees, retreating to his little ball of safety, Gerard close next to him with his arm around Mikey's shoulders. Frank got up from his bunk and moved over to Mikey's, sitting cross-legged next to him the other side from Gerard, barely fitting but squeezing in none the less because he wanted Mikey to know he was there for him, and for Frank that always meant being in close enough proximity for a hug, or a reassuring hand on the shoulder, or any sort of physical contact. Ray on the other hand took the approach of giving Mikey space, and letting him come to them in his own time, although as the only one to take this approach Ray wondered if perhaps he was wrong, scooting closer, over to the edge of Frank's bunk so his knees were practically touching Mikey's feet sticking off the side of his bunk opposite. 

"I'm sorry," Mikey mumbled eventually, his voice raspy from tears, realising everyone was waiting for him to speak but keeping his eyes on the floor, "I just... I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, you don't have anything to be sorry for," Gerard replied softly, his arm tightening round Mikey's shoulders, "We're not angry, I promise, okay? No one's angry with you."

 Mikey sniffed and rubbed his eyes, "Maybe not angry, but you're disappointed, or upset, or something like that..."

"We're just worried about you," Frank interjected, resting his hand on Mikey's knee, "Like not to sound too much like an intervention, but we love you, and we're fucking worried about you."

Mikey laughed just the tiniest bit, relaxing a little but feeling more tears overflowing from his eyes. He wasn't sure if it was worse to have his friends angry at him or worried about him, but he feared it was the latter.  

"Can I... Can I see?" Gerard asked tentatively, brushing his hand against Mikey's left arm.

Mikey sniffed and nodded slowly, giving up on his defences, too tired to do anything but give in. He didn't want anyone worried about him, but on the other hand, he wasn't exactly holding things together on his own anymore. He extended his arm to Gerard, closing his eyes, not wanting to have to see the hurt on his brother's face. He stayed still as Gerard took the glove off his hand, wincing a little as he heard Gerard's sharp intake of breath and Ray sucking air in between clenched teeth. He felt Gerard run his fingers over the cuts at the same time as feeling Frank take his free hand in his, Mikey clutching onto it tightly despite the part of his brain screaming at him not to as he opened his eyes.

"Is it just these?" Gerard asked after what seemed like an eternity.

Mikey just nodded in reply, wishing Gerard would let go of his wrist. He knew his brother rubbing his thumb over the cuts was meant to be reassuring in some way, but all it did was make Mikey embarrassed by the whole situation. He was twenty-five years old, he thought, he wasn't a teenager, he wasn't a kid anymore, he was too old to not know how to deal with things to this extent. Gerard must have sensed Mikey not wanting him to look anymore, because he let go of Mikey's wrist finally, allowing Mikey to flatten it against his chest, cuts hidden once again.

"We'll phone your therapist in the morning, yeah? I'm sure you can do phone appointments or something. Or you can go back home for a couple of days and have an appointment and come back when you're ready, we'll figure something out." Gerard said, before gently taking hold of Mikey's wrist again, "And if you ever feel like _this_ is a good idea again, you come talk to me, or talk to  _someone,_ instead, okay? Even if it's fucking 4am or whatever, wake me up and I'll be there to talk, okay?"

"Same here," Frank added.

"Yeah," Ray said, nodding.

"Like, we're all here for you. And I know everything feels shitty right now but it wont always, okay? I just... I love you so much. I don't know what I'd do without you." Gerard said, tears in his eyes as he rested his head on Mikey's shoulder.

Mikey never could stand to see his brother cry. Not over grazed knees when they were kids and he looked up to Gerard like his life depended on him, not when their grandma had died, not all those nights over the years when Gerard had been drunk and depressed, not during those awful days where Gerard had been trying to get sober, and not now. 

"I love you too," Was all Mikey could manage to say before breaking down into sobs again, curling himself up into his brother's side, wishing he still believed what was so engrained in his thought process as a child: that his brother had a way to fix everything.


	6. six

Twice weekly therapy phone calls, his bandmates barely leaving his side, the locks on the bathroom door mysteriously breaking; these were all just parts of his life now that Mikey had to accept. Therapy wasn't so bad over the phone, far less direct, less intimidating, but the same old shit he did week in week out back home. He'd only had one session so far, but they'd decided the more the better for the time being, so every Tuesday and Friday at 3pm for the foreseeable future he would be bound to his phone for an hour. He felt better after therapy, felt like everything he was feeling could be manageable, like his anxiety wasn't quite so overwhelming, but it didn't last more than a couple of hours before everything came flooding back. His over intrusive bandmates were getting somewhat hard to deal with as well. Mikey had barely spoken to any of them since the other night on the bus, not about anything deep. He tried to join in conversations, to laugh and joke with them, but he was so caught up in his own head he rarely actually opened his mouth.

Gerard was worried about him, and Mikey knew it and hated it. Gerard had been the worst, keeping an eye on him constantly, checking up on him, making sure he was alright and every time Mikey wanted to scream that no he wasn't alright, and that Gerard wasn't helping, but he didn't. Gerard had talked about cancelling their European tour they'd had planned after this one. A few days rest and then another month on the road in another continent did sort of sound like hell to Mikey, but he wouldn't let Gerard cancel it just for him. No, Mikey would have to learn to deal, and if that meant finding a way to sneak behind everyone's backs and hurt himself then so be it.

Running back to the bus after shows and hiding out in his bunk had become a routine for Mikey, holding onto the precious time he could get alone before anyone caught up with him, keeping the curtain shut and saying he was reading, or too tired to eat dinner, or just pretending to be asleep if it took the others long enough to catch up. Really, he wasn't sleeping very much, he spent a lot of time curled up on the slightly-too-hard bunk mattress crying silently to himself instead. He was still barely eating, but the others hadn't noticed that so much, or if they had they hadn't said anything about it. His stomach growled all of the time, gnawing on itself, anxiety twisting into knots around the teeth.

Once again Mikey found himself awake at 5am, the only one on the bus still awake, alone with his thoughts. He wondered how it was possible that he always felt so alone when he rarely had any time to himself anymore. It was suffocating, being trapped in his mind, and Mikey felt like hitting his head against the wall or tearing his hair out, or something, anything, that would get everything out of his head so he could just go to sleep for a while and not have to think. His mind wondered to the blades he'd stashed in his wallet the other day, still safely hidden. No one had thought to ask him for his blades, and so, turning on the reading light in his bunk and praying no one noticed, Mikey sat up and searched around the bunk for the jeans he'd been wearing earlier, discarded and crumpled at the end of the mattress, pulling out his wallet from the back pocket. The blades were exactly where he had left them, exactly the same, as clean and shiny and sharp as they had been before. He took one out, leaving the other where it was, and held it, staring, deep in thought.

He thought about how it had helped him sleep before, how it had helped him to have something physical to focus on rather than all the shit in his head, but he also thought about Gerard, and how hurt he'd been before, and how upset he'd be if he found out Mikey had done it again. He'd have to be more careful this time, he thought. No more cutting on his wrists, or anywhere on his arms for that matter. No, if he was going to do this without hurting anyone but himself he was going to have to get better at hiding things. He bit the inside of his lip, before pulling up the end of his boxers, revealing the pale skin at the top of his thighs. He gulped, hovering the blade over the skin, ready to press down when his mind started replaying him Gerard words from the other night, spinning round and round in his head, _"Come talk to me, okay? Even if it's fucking 4am, wake me up and I'll be there to talk._ "

He couldn't bring himself to press the blade down with that running loops in his head, ringing in his ears. He thought about Gerard crying, he thought about if the situation had been reversed how he wouldn't want Gerard doing what he was about to do. He thought back to the year before, when Gerard had been getting sober, and how Mikey had said similar words to him in regards to talking to him instead of falling into a relapse, back when Mikey had to be the older brother and keep Gerard from falling apart. The blade fell from his grip onto the bunk mattress as Mikey, still unsure of quite what he was doing, pulled open the curtain and pushed himself out of the bunk, grabbing his hoodie and sweatpants and pulling them on over his bare chest and boxers before making his way over to his brother's bunk.

Mikey breathed in deeply before pulling back the corner of the curtain, seeing Gerard curled into himself, sleeping deeply. Mikey's brain screamed at him not to wake his brother, telling him he didn't need help, he didn't need to bother anyone with his bullshit, and yet he found himself placing a trembling hand on Gerard's shoulder and shaking it lightly.

"Gee? Hey, Gee, please wake up," Mikey said, his voice just breaking above a whisper but his mouth close to Gerard's ear. And, by some miracle either Gerard hadn't been very deeply asleep to start with or he'd heard the desperation in his brother's voice, because he bolted awake almost immediately, turning round wide eyed to Mikey as if expecting the worst.

"Mikey? What's wrong, are you okay?" Gerard asked, his voice slightly less alert than he looked, still groggy from sleep.

Mikey sniffed and looked at the floor, Gerard immediately pushing himself out of the bunk, taking the blankets with him before leading Mikey through to the living room area, sliding the dividing doors across so as not to wake the others, and sitting him down on the sofa, wrapping a blanket around Mikey's shoulders before sitting down next to him, his feet up on the sofa and another blanket placed over his knees. Mikey was still shaking, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged on the sofa, his legs slightly too long to do so comfortably. He kept his hands in his lap, pulling down at his sleeves and picking at the skin around his nails.

"Did you..." Gerard asked eventually, not able finish the sentence.

Mikey shook his head quickly and bit down hard on the inside of his lip before speaking, "No... Nearly, I wanted to, I really wanted to... Still kinda do."

Gerard scooted a little closer and took Mikey's hands in his, bending his head down to try and catch Mikey's eyes, "Hey, I'm proud of you," He said softly.

Mikey blinked away tears, biting his mouth again and tasting blood, "Why? I still fucked up, I was still thinking about fucking up... I still, I still might..."

"Don't think about it like that, think about it like you didn't do it this time, and that was so brave of you. You came and asked for help, and that's tough when your mind is intent on self-destruction, trust me, I know."

Mikey just nodded slowly and blinked tears away from his eyes. He wasn't brave. He'd fucked up and now he'd fucked up even more because he could tell by Gerard's voice how fucking worried he was, and that was Mikey's fault. He was just a burden to everyone he loved the most, and all that made him do was want to cut even more, out of anger towards himself. He settled for digging his fingernails into the palm on his hand, hoping Gerard wouldn't notice. No such luck.

"Hey, stop," Gerard said, barely skipping a beat, grabbing into Mikey's hands and holding them at an angle where he couldn't hurt himself, before letting go and getting the box of cigarettes from the ledge on the side, lighting one for him and one for Mikey.

Mikey inhaled deeply, the smoke scratching slightly against his throat. It wasn't much, it wasn't enough to really help, but at least it was a distraction for now.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Gerard asked, trying to keep his voice light, trying not to scare Mikey into retreating again.

"Not really," Mikey mumbled, blinking away the tears that had gathered in his eyes again, "I mean, there's nothing new, y'know?"

Gerard just nodded, putting his arm around his brother's shoulders, expecting Mikey to tense up but instead seemingly relaxing.

"Thank-you," Mikey said, so softly Gerard wasn't quite sure he'd heard it.

"For what?"

"I dunno, not getting mad at me.."

"Hey, I already told you, no ones angry with you, okay? I'm never gonna get mad at you for this shit." Gerard soothed, rubbing his hand on Mikey's shoulder before looking up at his brother's bloodshot eyes, "You haven't been to sleep yet?"

Mikey just shook his head, rubbing his eyes.

"You should have woken me up sooner."

"Thought I could handle it on my own..."

"It doesn't matter if you can handle it on your own or not, the point is you don't have to handle it alone, okay?"

Mikey nodded, exhaustion finally overcoming him as he stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. The whole talking thing, even if Mikey wasn't really talking very much, took a lot out of him, just deciding to wake up Gerard had drained him of whatever energy he may have had left. He rubbed his eyes again, feeling himself relax into his brother's arm.

"Let's get you back to bed, yeah?" Gerard asked softly, almost like he was talking to a child.

Mikey yawned and nodded again, allowing Gerard to help him to his feet and guide him the short walk back to his bunk, Gerard's blanket still around his shoulders. Reaching Mikey's bunk, Gerard held the curtain open for Mikey to crawl inside, seeing the unused razor blade on top of the pile of blankets. He sighed, shuddering a little, before reaching inside and taking it out, putting it on the storage bunk above Mikey's. Mikey climbed into the bunk, reaching his hand out and taking Gerard's wrist before he turned away.

"Stay with me?" Mikey asked, with all the desperation of the small child Gerard had sounded like he was talking to before.

Gerard nodded, squeezing into the bunk next to Mikey, not really fitting but it didn't matter, because if Mikey wanted him to stay then Gerard would stay. Anytime Mikey wanted, Gerard would be there at his side, ready to talk or listen or just to be there, to help Mikey make it safely through the night.


End file.
